Page 13 of Love Me Like It's Real
“For an artist, your storytelling sucks, Ma,” I grumble and down my coffee.
Mom giggles to herself as I gather my things and lean down to kiss her cheek despite her pissing me off.
“I’ll work on my storytelling. You work on letting someone in.”
I stare at her. “The only way I’ll accept this sentence is if you mean it in the sexual way, in which case, ew, Mom!”
Mom slaps my arm and shoos me away. “I’ll remember this conversation on your wedding day.”
“I won’t remember this conversation at your funeral.”
I rush to the door and close it behind me just as a Kevlar muffin crashes against the other side of the door. It makes me jump. But it doesn’t deter me.
It’s time to sign up some new members to my Anti-Valentine Club and convert some desperate lovers into some serious haters.
FOUR
FELIX
How did this happen?
Well, I know how this happened but how on earth have I found myself in this position? Out of the house after the girls’ bedtime, in a dark bar surrounded by potential dates?
I need to stop making deals with the girls like that. As happy as trying to hook me up makes them, I can’t keep indulging them, especially when love is the last thing on my mind. And probably will be for a very long time after what Mark put me through.
The doors to this guy have closed.
Wait. That sounds weird.
The shutters are down.
That’s weirder.
In any case my dating days are over. Likeoverover. Like I’ll probably go gray and old before I realize I’ve wasted my life and libido because of one stupid motherfucker. And I’m fine with that. One hundred percent A-okay.
I tap on my cell and my girls’ photo from last year at Disney California flashes right back at me, informing me that the time is almost seven.
They look so innocent in that picture. Of course that was before Mark completely lost his mind and gave Elsa nightmares. I’m still waiting for Arya to have an adverse reaction to her dad’s stupidity but thankfully she’s young enough for things not to stick. Either that or I’ll be dragged into a therapist in twenty years and told how badly I failed as a parent. It’s all a guessing game at this point.
I really, really hope this place works out. I can’t take another move. Another shock to the system. Another search for happiness that could give anyone a headache.
“Welcome—” someone starts but the microphone screeches, making everyone reach for their ears. “I’m sorry about that,” says the same elegant woman I saw at Caspian’s the other day as she walks away from the speakers. “Welcome to our first Season of Love event! We like to start early in January so everyone has three chances to find their soulmate so rest assured, if today doesn’t work out we’ll be back again next week and the week after that.”
“Here you go,” the bartender, a ginger man with bright green eyes, says and passes me my drink. A very large, very red, very full red wine.
“You’re a saint!” I tell him and bite my tongue before I ask him if he’s single.
I don’t need to embarrass myself like that. Especially if I don’t mean it. I’m just here to appease the girls.
“So the way Cupid’s Speed-Dating works is how all speed-dating works, really. You will have three minutes to meet everyone in the room. If you’re interested in them simply put an X next to their name. At the end of the night we’ll collect all forms and if we find any mutual Xs we will provide you with the contact information of your potential soulmate!”
Agh. There was that word again.Soulmate.
I used to believe in those once upon a time. I used to think I’d met mine. I used to live in a fairy-tale dream.
And then I woke up.
“Now you’ll notice we have a mix of genders here. That’s because here at Maplewood we don’t discriminate. We want everyone to have an equal opportunity to meet their special someone or their next best friend,” the woman, whose name I believe is Agnes, says and smiles at everyone.
